


Not Quite so Black and White

by Armygirl0604



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Photography, Prom, Skinny Steve, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, bucky still has a prosthetic, misappropriation of canon quotes, photographer steve, popular bucky, ring leader bucky barnes, situationally inappropriate prom songs, the howling commandos are the marauders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armygirl0604/pseuds/Armygirl0604
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts in the courtyard.The picture is a black and white print of him sitting on his stoop in a denim jacket. He looks pensive in the photo, staring off at something out of the shot, his lips parted ever so slightly, as if he’s about to call out to someone far away. The slogan at the bottom reads “Born in the wrong time, he’s one of a kind. Vote this classic babe for prom king.” And Bucky doesn’t even have to guess where the posters came from because there are only two people in the world who have ever caught Bucky rocking out to that song and one of them was his mother. And Bucky knows exactly who took that damn photograph. “I’m going to fucking kill him,” he says. </p><p>Or, Bucky Barnes is SSR Academy's sweetheart but is so close to drowning in self-doubt that it takes winning Prom King to realize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite so Black and White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pugglemuggle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pugglemuggle/gifts).



> Based on the tags in this post: http://captain-trashmerica.tumblr.com/post/119196665508/on-working-on-captain-america-i-loved-the

It starts in the courtyard. Really it starts at the front steps but when delivering your sister to school and commuting back to your own classes starts at 3:30 in the morning, it’s hard to pay attention to the little things like the _huge fucking posters with your own face on them._ Bucky doesn’t notice until he’s up the steps in the quad, where people are staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

            He hasn’t, he’s pretty sure. He would’ve noticed that in the mirror, he thinks.

            “Barnes,” Stark says, because of course the guy has to push when all Bucky wants to do is find Natasha and get his coffee from her. “Congrats. You’re a shoe in.”

            “Shoe in for what?” Bucky asks. He keeps walking, thinking maybe Tony will get the hint that Bucky’s not in the mood to chat.

            Stark huffs and waves his hand at the empty air. “The Winter Soldier as prom king. It’ll be great. Pepper won’t let us run; something about keeping my ego in check. No idea what she’s talking about.”

            “What? What are you-” Bucky finally looks up and is taken aback by his own face staring at him from a poster that’s at least three feet tall. The picture is a black and white print of him sitting on his stoop in a denim jacket. He looks pensive in the photo, staring off at something out of the shot, his lips parted ever so slightly, as if he’s about to call out to someone far away. The slogan at the bottom reads  **[“Born in the wrong time, he’s one of a kind. Vote this classic babe for prom king.”](http://40.media.tumblr.com/386ab61391a4bdc2ada24cd9bcc60365/tumblr_npyxjqNYlg1sum4luo1_250.png)** And Bucky doesn’t even have to guess where the posters came from because there are only two people in the world who have ever caught Bucky rocking out to that song and one of them was his mother. And Bucky knows exactly who took that damn photograph. “I’m going to fucking kill him,” he says.

Stark doesn’t hear, having already moved on without an answer in favor of throwing an arm over his best friend’s shoulder to laugh at some inside joke. Bucky turns full circle to see the damage. There’s another poster, much smaller, taped to the door. It’s another black and white shot of him, this time walking past the camera wearing sunglasses and actively avoiding eye contact with the person shoving the lens in his face.  **[“Just because he won’t smile for the camera doesn’t mean he won’t smile for you. Vote Bucky Barnes for Prom King.”](http://36.media.tumblr.com/974a3db8a37c7e492f4e9a7d926d3034/tumblr_npyxjqNYlg1sum4luo5_1280.png)**

They get worse after he goes inside. There is another large poster of him at the boxing gym with the caption  **[“He’ll defend our honor. Vote Barnes into the ring for Prom King.”](http://41.media.tumblr.com/67975f4cb9752e275a44d98010e1d972/tumblr_npyxjqNYlg1sum4luo2_500.png)**  A poster roughly the size of a calendar shows him swaggering down Flatbush Avenue in a leather jacket looking for all the world like he belonged in a 50’s photograph that reads,  **[“There’s always faith in Brooklyn when we vote our best guy for Prom King.”](http://40.media.tumblr.com/4286d60fc681460d9cc1a0950b15ccd2/tumblr_npyxjqNYlg1sum4luo6_1280.png)** There are more, stretching down the halls. One announces,  **[“His hair might take two hours, but voting for him only takes two minutes. Vote James Barnes for Prom King.”](http://41.media.tumblr.com/fca0539803156c84bcc70a2ad4797064/tumblr_npyxjqNYlg1sum4luo3_500.png)**  All are black and white shots of him in varying sizes with the same message: Vote Bucky Barnes for Prom King. Bucky ducks his head and tries to ignore the poster of him in his AJROTC uniform armed with a pile of snowballs that claims everyone should vote their beloved winter soldier for prom king that hangs over the water fountain. Using that photo is just betrayal. First Sergeant had him pushing for  _days_  after Falsworth convinced him to start that snowball fight. And the little bastard who took the photograph knew that.

He manages to ignore most of the posters right up until he hits his locker because right above it, just out of reach hangs a poster only slightly larger than a piece of computer paper. Bucky dares to glance up at it and feels his face flush. It’s a photo he’s never seen. Or if he has, it’s one he hasn’t paid any attention to in the past. He’s in a black t-shirt and low slung jeans, feet bare against the sun-warmed pavement. He’s leaning back against a wrought-iron fence- _the one outside the church around the corner from his house_ , his brain supplies uselessly- staring directly at the camera. His lips are parted in a way that’s fucking sinful up close, his eyes dark and even though the photo is black and white it’s obvious his cheeks are flushed. He looks either completely in love or dazed and horny and either way the image makes his cheeks burn. He tears his gaze away from the fucked out expression on his own face and reads the caption.  **[“A face like this would go so well with a crown. Vote James Barnes for Prom King.”](http://40.media.tumblr.com/db491af8cfadbfc04b22194c22d16f0c/tumblr_npyxjqNYlg1sum4luo4_500.png)**

Oh yeah. Bucky’s going to fucking kill him.

After he gets his heart started again from the shock of the photograph he pulls a chair from the classroom across the hall and uses it as a stepstool to get high enough to tear down the poster. He fumbles more than usual getting his books, unable to find his usual balance between his chest and his prosthetic. Eventually he gives up and crams them into his already overstuffed bag, jamming the poster in along with them. Professor Carter gives him the stink eye and he bashfully replaces her chair before scurrying to his usual spot by the stairs, keeping an eye out for Natasha. She appears at his elbow with no warning, shoving a venti cinnamon dolce latte into his real hand. “Did you-”  

“ _No_ ,” he snaps a bit more forcefully than is probably necessary.

“I know.” If Natasha were one to roll her eyes, she would. He’s sure of it. “Did you already destroy him?”

Bucky blinks. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Natasha’s figured it out. “No,” he admits. “I don’t even know what to say.”

            Natasha’s face is blank but her eyes are somewhere between joyous, annoyed, and concerned. “Your seven o’clock,” she says.

            He doesn’t want to turn. He doesn’t want to see it. At this point, he really doesn’t want to know.

            He turns.

            Logically he knows even if he doesn’t rip it off the wall himself a picture with a slogan like that one has maybe hours to live. It’s a picture of him sitting on the back of his sofa-where his Ma would kill him for sitting because  _asses go on cushions, James Buchanan, not where our heads go_ , one foot propped up as he laces his sneaker. He’s looking at the camera again, a raised eyebrow and a tiny smirk.  **[“He puts the ‘sex-y’ in Pansexuality. Vote Bucky Barnes for Prom King.”](http://41.media.tumblr.com/0f385dcd36bfb0b5c1a7a90483fddd81/tumblr_npyxjqNYlg1sum4luo7_500.png)**

            Bucky drops his bag at Natasha’s feet and shoves his coffee back into her hands. “I’ll see you in class.” He tears the poster down as he walks.

            On the way there, he gets stopped no less than seventeen times by different peers. It’s a mix of juniors and seniors with a sophomore or two appearing at his elbow with a smile. People clap him on his good shoulder or smile at him, all asking the same question: “since when is the winter soldier running for prom king?” Arnie Roth waves from a doorway and shouts, “Good on it, Barnes!”

            Bucky has never wanted to hurt Steve. It’s just not a thing his brain can compute; the idea of Steve hurting at his hands is so completely ridiculous that it’s all together foreign. Right now, he kind of wants to pummel the kid. “Kind of” being a gross understatement. In reality, he’d like to throw Steve Rogers off the damn roof.

            He finds him where he always does when they’re not super-glued, be it figuratively or literally, to one another’s sides: sitting in the art room with a sketchbook in his lap and a timer for the dark room on the table by his elbow. Bucky hauls Steve up with no care for the charcoal mark that streaks Steve’s paper. “Get up,” he growls; dragging Steve down the long disused hallway to what was once the dance studio.

He lets Steve go the second they’re out of sight and Steve rounds on him with clenched fists. “What the hell, Buck?” he snaps.

“I could ask you the same damn thing,” Bucky says. The words come out like little knives in his throat and mouth, stinging when they exit. He has a brief image of them cutting him open, letting him bleed his anger onto their feet in that dingy, forgotten hallway. “What’s with the bullshit on the walls, Steve?”

Steve stares at him blankly. “What about ‘em?” His face is closed off, going into furious shut down mode. It only serves to piss Bucky off more.

Bucky says, “I told you I didn’t want any part of that crap.”

            Steve’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “Don’t you act like this isn’t something you’ve always been a part of. People fawn over you all the time, Barnes, and you’ve never gotten your panties in a twist about it before this year.”

            It’s a crack shot that Bucky doesn’t have the patience or presence of mind to address. He huffs in frustration. It’s not about the damn prom. Well it _is_ because he’d _told_ Steve he wasn’t running and now apparently he _has_ to. The choice has been taken from him. And that-that’s an issue. Bucky’s had enough of people taking choices away from him. Being in a private school did that enough. Being a server whose boss told him to suck it up and smile for the customers when they got a little handsy or a lot leery had done that enough. Being in the hospital had done that enough. So if Bucky’s a little prickly about his right to make choices, that’s his business and he’s sticking to it. But it’s more than that. “The _photos_ , Steve.”

            And now it’s Steve that looks pissed. “I know all about the photos, Bucky. I took them.” He juts his chin out defiantly.

            “Exactly!” Bucky shouts. “You took them! And I let you because you said they were _personal._ For your collection, for practice, for those scholarships. I let you take ‘em because I thought they were going to stay with you, not all over the damn school! And those fucking quotes-are you shitting me? You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? You ever think maybe there was a reason I wasn’t running?”

            “Well you screwed that up when you hung posters everywhere,” Steve snaps. “You didn’t want the photos up everywhere; maybe you shouldn’t have hung them.”

            Bucky freezes, ice trickling through his veins. “What did you just say.” It doesn’t come out like he means it, like a question. It’s soft and trembling and there’s this sick little bubble of fear and hope forming in the pit of his stomach.

            “If you didn’t want pictures you think are too personal for the public hanging everywhere, you should have skipped hanging them in a high school,” Steve says, hissing every word. He turns to leave.

            Bucky snatches his wrist so fast he has to loosen his grip for fear of popping Steve’s wrist in the wrong way. “You didn’t hang the photos.”

            Steve narrows his eyes. “No, you did.”

            Bucky stares back at him. “No.” They exchange another long look, evaluating the situation and coming to an agreement. Bucky exhales hard and slides down the wall, his knees knocking against his chin when he curls up on the floor. “I’m fucked, Stevie.”

            Steve drops down next to him. “Hey,” he says. “We can start taking them down during free period,” he says. “And we’ll find out who put them up and take care of them.”        

            Bucky shakes his head. “Too late for that, Stevie. They’re all expecting me to run now. I’ve had so many people come up and ask me about it and…and it’ll look real bad if I pull out of it.”

            “Who cares what they think?” Steve asks. His hand brushes Bucky’s shoulder, trailing down past the plate that Tony and his dad had anchored the prosthetic to. His fingers trace the scar along what’s left of the bone in Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky tries not to shiver and give himself away. Steve catches the twitch and brings his hand up to the base of Bucky’s skull. Bucky melts against him, relying on the smaller boy to keep him up.

            There’s no easy way to say “I do. I care.” Bucky’s tried time and again to explain it all to Steve. His life is broken down into three parts: Before the Accident, The Recovery, and After the Accident. The Recovery is nothing more than a nine week blip in his mind, a haze of pain and drugs that made him feel fuzzy when he was awake at all and Steve’s steady hand wrapped around his right wrist promising to stay with him no matter what. But there is Before the Accident, in which James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes is the school sweetheart: charmer, dancer, athlete, mischievous JROTC cadet who played tricks on the cadre but was still somehow on his way to being the command sergeant major, attached at the hip with the Steve Rogers, never seen without at least one Howling Commando. And there is After the Accident, in which Bucky walks down the halls and even though the whispers have stopped, every single conversation with anyone but his close friends feels like being a charity case because the pity in their eyes is nauseating.

            He knows the fact that he’s gone to the fringes of the school’s society is partially his own fault. He knows what he was like after all the careful voices and averted gazes finally wore him down. He remembers lashing out, when all the sass and wit had turned to caustic snark and bitter sarcasm. He remembers the downward shift from amicable to ornery. He remembers Natasha beating sense into him and Steve patiently pulling him out of his misery every single day until he learned to do it himself.

            But even though he’s no longer seated as a party of one at the self-pity table, there is a line drawn between him and his peers. It used to be nonexistent; school unity was something Bucky had thrived upon. Running through the halls during spirit week in nothing but a toga waving a flag made out of a mop handle and striped boxers in his school colors while the Howling Commandos followed dressed as the Village People was his life’s blood. Getting Steve dubbed “Captain America” just like back in summer camp by convincing him to dress up in a patriotic spandex body suit to run with them while he handed out popsicles during finals was the air in his lungs. Swing dancing with cheerleaders in the hallway on the way to the pep rally had been like his reason for living. Being part of that kind of community had always been what mattered and that hasn’t changed. It still matters. Maybe not to people like Steve, who is That Yearbook Kid Who Fights a Lot. Maybe not to people like Natasha, who is Scary: Do Not Make Her Angry. But for people like him? People who have always relied on the unity of the student body for a sense of community? Yeah. It matters. Especially when it is something he misses so dearly and has no idea how to get back.

            Steve doesn’t get that. For Steve, the world is black and white. There is good and evil, right and wrong, people who matter and people who don’t and there is nothing in between. Bucky’s life is made up of gray areas where he is caught somewhere between who he was and who he is now. His doctor claims it’s normal to feel out of place after the kind of accident he went through. But it’s not that. It’s not about not feeling normal. Stark’s dad had taken care of any insecurity about the arm he might have had in the flawlessly realistic design. It’s about aching for what he no longer has in a way that has both nothing and everything to do with his missing arm. He has a new limb, but the phantom ache of being part of something bigger than sharing beef jerky with Natasha under the staircase is still there and it hurts like a hole in his chest.

            Steve may not care, but Bucky does and there is no good option. If he stays in the running, he tortures himself by proving he will never belong again. If he backs out, that’s like turning his back on everything he misses and everything he has always loved. And maybe, just maybe, in secret he will admit how unhealthy it is to validate his self worth based on his social standing in a _high school_ , but it is something he loved for so long that there’s no way it would ever be something he wouldn’t miss. He misses it. He does. So much.

            Bucky stares at his hands as the warning bell rings over their heads. “I guess I do, Stevie.”

* * *

 

            The best thing about prom campaign is that it only lasts a week. The worst thing about prom campaign is that it only lasts a week and for those five days before prom night it is all anyone can talk about. Bucky is vaguely aware that he is running against three or four competitors. He does not know who the candidates for queen are. Every class period is a new chance for someone to corner him and ask him about prom. What color is he wearing? Who is his date? Is he renting a limo like last year? Grey, he tells them. The Howling Commandos are going stag, he tells them. Falsworth was in charge of transportation this year, he tells them. Does he think he’ll win? _No_ , he wants to say. “That’s up to you beautiful ladies, isn’t it?” he says instead.

            Around fourth period, Bucky realizes he will just have to accept it. Prom is a magical time where suddenly people who barely know each other have something to talk about. The girls fawn over dresses and restaurant choices and flowers and limos and dates. They exchange hair style ideas and makeup tips and recommend tailors and nail salons to complete strangers. Boys band together to bemoan tux rental processes and finding a tie when their dates still haven’t chosen a dress. The Howling Commandos pass out pamphlets in gym titled “So You’re Going to Sit through a Prom” with tips on avoiding ill fitting suits, how to ask a potential date, which florists have the best prices, and safe sex tips that politely remind everyone that someone has to clean that limo at the end of the night. Falsworth and Morita look epically proud of themselves when they flip it around to display the back which reminds everyone to vote for Bucky for prom king.

            Skye corners him on the way out of the locker room that first afternoon. He’s listening to Dugan and Jones bicker about restaurant choices when he nearly crashes into her. “So,” she says right away, her phone in her hands ready to send his answer to her computer. “For the prom court candidacy article. Which of the potential candidates for queen are you rooting for?”

            Bucky smirks, all charm and pomp. “I think every one of you beautiful gals deserves a crown,” he says. He nudges Dernier with his elbow. “You too, of course, doll.” Dernier throws a friendly punch at his left arm and Skye’s eyes widen as her gaze shoots to his shoulder. Bucky frowns and adjusts his weight as casually as possible, angling his body so she can’t see his left side. “Anyways,” he said. “What do you need my opinion for? You really think anyone’s going to vote for this sorry sack?” Skye frowns at him and laughs nervously. She looks behind him and Bucky turns around in time to see her exchanging a look with Dugan over his shoulder. All of the Commandos are frowning at him. He barely hears Skye mutter an awkward “thank you” as she scurries away. “What?” he asks.

            Morita says, “Dude. Are you feeling all right?”

            Bucky laughs. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” He raises his hand to them in a half wave and heads toward his next class, forcing Dum Dum to struggle to catch up. He winks at a cluster of sophomore girls who are staring at him and tittering in hushed voices. They dissolve into giggles and frantic whispers as soon as he’s passed by. Dugan huffs at him but smiles and Bucky finds himself smiling as well. As soon as prom is over, things will go back to normal and he’ll be invisible again. He can at least have fun while it lasts.

            At lunch the next day, Grant Ward takes a seat across from him in what is usually Falsworth’s seat. The student in question is fifteen feet away, staring out over the quad as he argues with someone from the tailor. He lets out a string of rapid fire curses and gesticulates wildly. Bucky chuckles and has to tear his eyes away from the display to focus on Ward. “What can I do for you?” he asks.

            The boy doesn’t waste any time blubbering. “How do I get Skye to stop being pissed at me long enough to ask her to prom?”

            Gabe laughs. “What did you do this time, kid?” he asks the junior.

             “I told her I was glad juniors had a different election than seniors because if it was me against Barnes, I’d lose for sure. Now every time she sees me she shouts something about my lack of confidence and walks the other way.” Grant rolls his eyes. “Because it had nothing to do with facing the facts and everything to do with my fragile ego, apparently.”

            Morita snorts but says nothing. Bucky shrugs. “Tell her you take it back because you’ve realized you want to see her beat out all the girls on the queen roster just by being herself.” He takes a sip from his water and shoves Steve’s Green Machine at him with a stern look. “But you’re wrong, you know. You would’ve beat me by a long shot. Probably given the others a run for their money, too.”

            Grant Ward looks puzzled. “Thanks,” he says slowly as he stands up and leaves the table.

            Everyone is staring at Bucky again. Their sad eyes and pinched faces say all he needs to know but he ignores it. “The cadet really does have huge confidence issues. We should drop a line with the XO about some peer mentoring. Ward’s one of his staff members; I’m sure Phil can direct someone to help him out.” He points at Steve’s Green Machine and sandwich again. “Thought I told you to eat.”

            Steve is frowning at him and the little crease between his eyes has deepened. “Buck,” he starts.

            Falsworth plops into his seat and huffs, still muttering in French. “What did I miss?” he asks after a moment.

            “Ward’s got confidence issues and I ran out of Cheez-its,” Bucky says. He stands up and grabs his wallet. “Someone make Rogers eat his damn sandwich.”

As he walks away, his friends bow their heads and mutter, shooting him concerned looks for the whole two minutes it takes to buy more Cheez-its. When he returns, Natasha tells him, “We’re deeply concerned about your idiocy.”

            He’s learned to roll with her announcements so he says, “And I’m deeply concerned that Rogers still hasn’t touched his damn lunch. The Commandos need Captain America so eat up, punk.”

 

            At first it is fun but come Friday it isn’t. All people can talk about is the ballot. Voting takes place at lunch and the lines wrap around cafeteria doors out into the courtyard where Bucky sits. Dum Dum leads the pack out to him. “We’ve casted our votes,” he announces. “Are you ready to be prom king?”

            That’s when it hits him. This has been fun. He’s been enjoying it way too much. But now the time has come and elections are taking place and it’s time to face the music. He’s never going to win and after this he will fade back into oblivion. He laughs and it sounds like broken glass. “When pigs fly, Dugan,” he says. “Or maybe anvils because I’m sure the Starks are working on making that first one a reality.” He stands up and heaves his bag over his shoulder. “I need to see Professor Carter about that biology lab,” he says. “I’ll meet you guys at the table when I’m done.”

            He hears Falsworth shout, “Bucky!” but pretends he was too far to hear it.

He lingers in the washroom for as long as possible, wondering absently if anyone will remember that he’d been the first done with the lab or if he’ll get away with the lie. When he returns, the table is filled entirely. Tony is sitting between Bruce and Pepper bickering with them while Jane Foster and Natasha compare three or four ties to a picture on Jane’s phone. The Commandos are being uproariously loud and playing penny-in-the-hole while Clint Barton pretends to narrate while feeding bites of his pizza to the one-eyed dog beneath the table. Steve is smirking at all of them with a fondness that warms Bucky’s own heart. He swaggers up to the table and drops his bag on the ground before sliding into the seat next to Steve’s. “So,” he says. “What’s the plan if Fury notices you snuck Pizza Dog onto campus again?”

Barton doesn’t respond and that’s when Bucky notices his lack of hearing aids. Bucky reaches over and taps Barton’s wrist. Barton looks over and he signs the question at him. Barton grins and gestures to his ears before pulling out a piece of paper officially declaring Lucky a service dog. There’s a license and proper harness and everything and Bucky high fives Clint before reaching down to scratch Lucky behind the ears. It’s not until the exchange is done that he looks up and sees everyone else at the table staring at him. “What?” he asks.     

“I’m…” Steve starts. He stops and tries again. “We’re worried about you, Buck. With this prom election and all, we just thought maybe you should-”       

Bucky holds up his right hand. “Say no more,” he says. “I know. It’s been fun and all but I’m not going to be crushed when I lose. In fact, I don’t think I’m going at all anymore.”

Every face at the table except Natasha’s and Steve’s shifts to shock. Natasha narrows her eyes at him and Steve’s face shifts to fury but before Bucky can ask why he’s so upset, the warning bell rings and everyone knows the one way to ruin your afternoon is to be late to Colonel Phillips’s class so Bucky bolts, Dernier hot on his heels. They make it there in record time and slam into their seats just seconds before Phillips enters the room. “Dernier, Barnes,” Phillips barks. “Good to see you remembered your seats are on opposite sides of the classroom today. Keep it up and maybe you’ll be able to see each other’s faces again before graduation.” Bucky wants to turn around and smirk at Jacques but if he so much as thinks about facing away from the board Phillips will make sure he’s scrubbing desks until exam time.

 

            Bucky doesn’t realize he actually meant what he said about not going until three hours before prom. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon and he hasn’t left his pajamas yet or even brushed his teeth. He wonders how pissed his Ma will be when she finds out he spent his hard earned money on a prom ticket and a tux rental for an event he skipped all together. He’s about to call the rental place and see if he can return the tux for a partial refund when he hears a well known tune rapped out on his front door. He opens it to find the Howling Commandos with their arms full of tuxes and bags of food and soda, serenading him with their sixth grade camp song. And because it’s literally impossible to avoid joining in, Bucky crows the very last “star spangled man with a plan” with them before standing aside to allow them entry. They pour into his home in a wave of sound, bickering immediately over who needs to pass what food item to whom and start tromping over to his living room to queue up Mario Kart. Bucky stands at the door in a momentary daze, trying to process what’s happening.

            “It’s an intervention Buck,” Steve says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now go brush your damn teeth and come join us.”

            Bucky sighs and nods his acquiescence, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t you touch my lucky controller, Jim!” He brushes his teeth, puts on deodorant, and goes to sit among his friends. Dum Dum and Gabe are already in a competition to catch the most Cheetohs in their mouths and Dernier is arguing loudly with Falsworth over the existence of morality in Mario Kart. Steve’s got a camera in his hands and Bucky wants to scowl because that’s what got them into this mess in the first place. But Steve’s eyes are soft and happy like they always are when he’s taking a photo he actually wants to take so Bucky turns to Jim and asks him about playing God Mode in the new Dragon Age and lets Steve take the photo.

            They cram rounds of Mario Kart in between tussles over rules and shot gunning Mountain Dews. At some point someone orders pizza and Bucky steals the entire pie with pineapple, chicken, and bacon and makes a dash for his room while Dugan and Morita chase after him cursing. He leaves it on his bed and gets into the shower while Jim picks his lock for the thousandth time because it’s obvious he’s not being given the option to skip prom so he might as well get dressed. When he gets out he finds that they’ve left him a significant portion of the pizza-his whole fair share, he’s pretty sure-and pulled his suit out. Dernier pushes past him into the bathroom and Bucky walks out into his room still towel drying his hair in nothing but his boxers and Steve is sitting on the bed shining a scuff out of a pair of shoes with a scowl. “Not yours,” Bucky says because he knows Steve would never let his shoes get as messy as these look.

            Steve shakes his head. “Told Dugan he should have checked inside the box when he rented them.” He glances up and his eyes are dark. “Get dressed,” he says, looking away.

            Bucky holds up his hands. “I am, I am, punk.”

            “Jerk,” Steve mutters, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

            Bucky starts putting his tux on slowly and methodically. There’s a science to it, he always tells Steve. The charcoal gray pants and black belt go on first. Then he walks into the bathroom without knocking to take his pomade and a comb to style his hair. Once it’s perfectly combed, he wipes his hands and gets his perfectly starched shirt. It’s fitted and pure white and it contrasts perfectly with the color of the tux. He slips his arms into the Air Force blue satin vest. It’s not until he’s adjusting his collar over the matching bowtie that he notices Steve taking pictures of him. He turns and frowns.

            “I took plenty of everyone,” Steve says. “Been taking them all night.”

            Bucky pouts but Steve’s tie has been crooked by the camera strap and he can’t help but melt a little. “C’mere,” he says, reaching out. He straightens Steve’s tie and his lapels while he’s at it. He takes the camera and throws an arm over Steve, cramming the smaller teen up against his ribs while he takes a selfie with him. Steve makes a noise of protest when Bucky leans away to turn the camera on him. “Don’t like it so much on that end, do you, Rogers?” he asks.

            “Buck, come on! Give it back!” He gets several shots of Steve lunging at him, hands outstretched, and one or two of him laughing and grinning. Finally Steve full-body tackles him and Bucky flounders for a moment as he carefully holds the camera aloft for safety. Steve smiles like he knew full well Bucky would never drop his camera and plucks it from his hands. “Thanks, Barnes.”

            “Punk,” Bucky says.

            Someone clears their throat at the door. “If you two are quite done,” Falsworth says, “the limo is here. We need to get the photos done. Dum Dum has already set up the tripod. Barnes, fix your hair.”

            Bucky’s hands fly to his head only to find his hair in perfect order. He scowls and Falsworth smirks. He plucks his ticket off his bedside table and tucks it into his wallet. “One more,” he tells Steve as he opens the camera on his phone. Steve suffers through the selfie and they head downstairs to join the others, banging on the door to alert Dernier of their departure.

            They all meet downstairs and it takes Steve all of two minutes to get his camera set up. They take several photos, filling up a decent portion of Steve’s SD card with pictures of them pretending to be the secret service, posing like superheroes, and clumsily mimicking the classic sorority squat. There are the good photos, too: the ones posed like stock photos and the ones where they are arm in arm, smiling and happy and young and the freest they’ve ever felt. When they’re done, Steve takes down the tripod and they crawl into the limo. Steve crams himself between Bucky and Dum Dum and ties their shoelaces together while they’re distracted. Bucky elbows Steve and Steve grins devilishly at him until Dugan puts him in a headlock and Steve has to either announce on camera that Tony Stark is a devilishly handsome man he’d like to bump ugliest with or beg Bucky for help. He pleads with Bucky, playing up the puppy dog eyes until Bucky relents.

            The contentment of the afternoon and the limo ride stays with Bucky up until they’re a block away from the school. Steve notices the change in him. “You’re gonna win, Buck,” he says like he really believes it.

            “Of course he is,” Falsworth says. “Why wouldn’t he?”

            Bucky just shakes his head and smiles, glad he doesn’t have the blind faith his friends do. Realism leaves no room for disappointment.

            Bucky had doubts when he heard about the 40s theme, but he’s impressed upon walking into his high school cafeteria to find that his peers’ idea of a vintage dance hall isn’t actually too terrible. All of the usual tables are gone as well as the signs and artwork that are normally hung around the room. Old fashioned curtains have been hung above the windows and someone has strung lights along the ceiling. There are wooden chairs scattered about and printouts and recreations of vintage posters everywhere and the DJ’s booth is wrapped in a giant printout of a swing band that Bucky can’t quite make out through the crowd but is willing to bet is a still from the movie Swing Fever, given the prom theme title.

            Almost as soon as he enters he’s overtaken by Sharon Carter. “I’m surprised you didn’t come in your JROTC uniform,” she says. “Seeing as we still have greens, you would’ve fit right in with the theme.”

            “Considered it,” Bucky admits. “Thought better of it.”

            “Might be a good choice,” she says. “Colonel Phillips is a chaperone.” She jerks her head at where Phillips is standing by the punch bowl glaring at students. Bucky gets the feeling the man is about three seconds away from tossing a dummy grenade at the two students grinding almost directly in front him. “Dance with me?” she asks.

            Bucky glances back at the Commandos to see that most of them are already dispersing. Tim is chatting up a junior near the Uncle Sam poster that reads “I want YOU to GRADUATE!” and Dum Dum is talking to Steve about setting up his tripod in the far corner. Dernier and Jones are offering their opinions on the situation, but Falsworth and Jones have vanished. Bucky spots them weaving through the dance floor shoving grinding couples apart and worming their way between slow dancers crowing “Save room for Jesus!”

            He chuckles at them. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s dance.” He offers his arm to Sharon and they head out to the dance floor. The DJ seems taken with the theme and is trying to mash swing music with modern pop. Right as he and Sharon arrive on the dance floor, Glenn Miller’s In the Mood starts up on its own and Bucky asks, “Do you know how to-”

            “I’m a Carter; I know how to swing dance,” Sharon says. “Dance with me, Barnes.” So he does what any gentleman would do and takes her by the hand to start the dance. Bucky’s always liked dancing and he’s grateful to have danced with Sharon. She’s got quick feet and she can keep up all the way until the DJ fades the song into Bad Blood by Taylor Swift. Everyone groans and Sharon smirks. “Wonderful choice for a prom, really,” she says. “Perfect dance music.”

            Bucky snorts. “Thanks for the dance,” he says.

            She winks. “Any time.” And then she’s gone.

Bucky turns to leave the dance floor when there’s a tap on his elbow. “Excuse me?” The voice comes from a junior Bucky vaguely recognizes from his math class. “Would you-maybe-would-”

Bucky smiles at her and offers his hand. “May I have this dance?” he asks jokingly.

She laughs, sounding relieved. “Yes,” she says. The DJ has caught the hint that perhaps Bad Blood is inappropriate for the scene and has changed it to the opening bars of Turn Down for What. Bucky rests his hands on the girl’s waist, leaving the choice on how closely they dance in her hands. They stay at about eight inches away from each other but eventually she stops looking so nervous and just dances. When the song is ending, she says, “Thanks. I promise normally I’m not so awkward. It’s just-well-you’re Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky freezes. “I’m no one special,” he says, some of the enjoyment of the night already draining away after only two dances. “Promise.” He can feel his smile slipping.

The girl flushes. “Oh I didn’t mean-”

Bucky catches sight of a flash of red hair and says, “Excuse me.” He slips away, chasing after Natasha. He loses her momentarily in the crowd but in the process he finds Steve and the others talking about some sort of scheme. From what he catches before they turn their attention to him, it involves one of them wearing a dress and needing to borrow Nat’s shoes. “Hey,” he says. His voice sounds duller than it had before even to his own ears.

“Bucky? What happened?” Steve asks. “Didn’t step on some poor girl’s feet, did you?”

Bucky forces himself to smile and it comes out a grimace. “Nah,” he says. “Just picked the wrong partner I guess.”

The boys shrug. “Well it’s just one girl,” Falsworth says. “There will be plenty others by the end of the night.”

            “Yeah, Buck, don’t let some girl ruin your night,” Steve says. “Your senior prom should be good.”

            Before Bucky gets the chance to respond, Natasha appears at his elbow. “Dance with me,” she commands, hooking her arm through his and dragging him away. “Steve, there’s a blond in a purple dress standing by the punch bowl. Dance with her.” Her voice leaves no room for argument.

            Dancing with Natasha is different than dancing with anyone else he’s ever danced with. She took ballet as a kid and it’s made her graceful to the point that she can make any combination of dance moves flow like water. When the DJ whom Bucky is starting to question the sanity of starts playing a mash up of Baby Wants a Diamond Ring and Don’t Wake Me Up, Natasha invents some strange blend of grinding and swing dancing in mere seconds and it’s all Bucky can do to keep up until he gets an understanding of what she’s doing. A few people are watching them, or more likely watching Natasha. They dance a few songs together, all the others more normal if not necessarily logical prom music. They swing to American Patrol and Natasha grinds against his hips during Anaconda. People groan collectively when the next slow dance to play is I Should’ve Brought You Flowers and Natasha hooks her arms around his neck. “Clint remembered his hearing aids but when he heard the DJ try to mix that swing song with Nicki Minaj he took them out and hid them. He won’t even tell Phil where he put them but I left so he could wear him down. Tell me why you’re in a slump at your senior prom.”

            Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m not,” he says. “I’m having a great time, Nat.”

            She frowns. “Barnes.”

            “Really,” he says. “I’ve got you and Clint and the Commandos. Stark is probably going to hack the DJ’s computer from his phone and stop this madness sometime in the next five minutes and the ensuing repeat of Spice Girls or whatever he decides on will be hilarious. It’s a good night.”

            “And Prom King, you’re excited about that, too,” Natasha says. There’s a warning in her voice that he doesn’t quite understand.

            Bucky snorts. “I’m excited for the posters to come down, that’s for sure.”

            “The crown will look great on you,” Natasha says. “I’ve seen it, it’s terrible.”

            Bucky rolls his eyes. “Of course you have. I won’t even ask whose office you broke into. Do you think you’ll be caught before graduation?”

            Natasha frowns at him. “Don’t change the subject. You’re going to win.”

            “And the Kool-Aid Man is going to oversee the coronation,” Bucky says. “Nat, who cares? I’ve got you and the guys and later I’m going to drag Stevie onto the dance floor with me. I’m going to milk the pity dances I get like that junior girl because I like dancing and then I’m going to go home with the guys and play Call of Duty until my eyes bleed from exhaustion.”

            Nat raises an eyebrow. “Pity dances? Why the hell would James Barnes need a pity dance?” Bucky tells her about the junior girl’s stammered request and the way she’d accidentally announced her reason for asking him to dance. He doesn’t tell her about the way his stomach dropped but he knows Nat well enough to know she probably reads it in his face. “You’re an idiot,” Natasha hisses at the end. “And you know what? I’m sick of it. Steve told us to let you have your space and figure it out on your own but this is ridiculous Barnes.”

            Bucky can only stare at her like she’s lost her mind. He’s thinking she has. “What?”

            Natasha sets her jaw. “Stop projecting what you see in the mirror into everyone else’s gaze. Those girls aren’t asking you to dance because they feel _sorry_ for you. They’re asking because you’re _SSR High’s fucking sweetheart_ and they all have enormous disgusting crushes on you. And you’re going to win because people like you. Start being a little more grateful about how this school has stood by you through everything.” With that, Natasha turns on her heel and stalks away to pounce on Clint and drag him toward the DJ.

            Bucky stumbles off the dance floor, headed back to where the Commandos are still standing. Before he can get anywhere he’s snagged by two of the girls from the Varsity cheer squad. “Dance with us, Bucky!” Ashley says. And that’s how he finds himself sandwiched between them as Turn Down for What plays for the third time. He dances with two more girls and one of the junior boys he used to tutor before he disentangles himself and makes his way back to his friends.

            “All right, Rogers,” he says. “It’s time.”

            Steve sighs. “Buck, really?”

            Bucky grins. “Absolutely. Let’s go.” He offers his arm and Steve reluctantly takes it.

            They’re in the middle of the #Selfie, which Bucky is using to force more selfies on Steve just like everyone else on the dance floor, when the song abruptly switches to Turn Up the Radio. The dance floor turns into a mosh pit with zero warning. Steve is shoved against Bucky’s chest by a cluster of boys who are concert jumping with their dates. He loops his arms around Bucky’s neck and hangs on tight. Bucky catches Steve and hooks his arms around Steve’s hips. They’re dancing closer than ever and it’s close enough that Bucky feels comfortable leaning forward and asking Steve “Was I popular this whole year without noticing?”

            Steve looks oddly relieved. “You were always popular, Bucky. Why are you asking?” Bucky shrugs, not sure how to put it into words. Steve loops their hands together and tugs him. “Let’s go talk outside,” he says. They fight their way off the dance floor and into the hallway. “What’s going on, Buck?” he asks as soon as the noise dies down.

            Bucky leans against the wall, not sure how to put his feelings about what Nat said into words. Finally he ends up word-vomiting the whole thing: how he didn’t want to run despite their friends pressuring him because ever since his meltdown at the beginning of the year he’s been on the fringes of everything and he _missed_ being who he used to be for the school but had no idea how to get it back on his own. How he felt like all he got were pitying looks and averted eyes and he was so sick of it all because he was still _Bucky, dammit,_ and if Steve and the Commandos could see that why couldn’t everyone else? “And now we’re here and I honestly can’t tell anymore if people are talking to me because they feel sorry for me or if they actually like me.”

            Steve looks pale. “Jeez, Buck,” he says. “I had no idea you-I didn’t know it was that bad.” He sighs. “Let me explain it, then.” He meets Bucky’s gaze; his eyes are intensely blue and more than a little exasperated. “Yeah, you had a meltdown. And it sucked and we were all real worried about you. But you got better-at least, we thought you did-and when you were distant, everyone just assumed you needed space. A good chunk of the people in that cafeteria love you, Buck. Everyone in there knew you needed space to handle everything. Apparently we gave you too much space.” He reaches out and puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You keep your head down so much you don’t hear what they have to say about you, but a lot of people were happy to see you running for prom king. I know I said they don’t matter, but there’re good people in there who care about you, Bucky. You’ve always cared for everyone else. You gotta let them care for you, too.”

            Bucky’s eyes are uncomfortably hot and he has to bite his lip to keep from letting them get damp. He has to think about the past year in a whole new light, now. One where pitying looks aren’t pity at all but concern and averted eyes are because they thought he was uncomfortable rather than them being. Where whispers aren’t talking about him but worrying for him. Where everyone else is a genuinely good person and he’s the only cynical bastard who ruined it. “Oh,” he says faintly.

            “C’mere,” Steve says and he draws him in for a rib-crushing hug of surprising strength for someone so small. “Let’s go back in. You can simmer in your stupid from the dance floor.”

            They’re bombarded as soon as they get into the cafeteria again. “Sergeant Major!” Skye shouts. “You’ve saved a dance for Jemma and me, right?”

            Bucky grins. “Of course I have, doll. Long as you got one for my boy Stevie, too.”

            Jemma waves at Steve cheerfully. “I’d love to dance with you,” she says brightly. Though to be honest, Bucky’s pretty sure she says near everything brightly.

            “All right, everyone settle down,” Dean Fury says into a microphone. The room goes silent in a way only Dean Fury can make happen. “It’s time to announce your prom court.” He pulls out a card and reads off the names of the prom prince and princess.

            “We’ll meet you after,” Skye says. “This is so exciting!” Bucky nods as she dashes away, dragging Jemma along behind her.

            “I know this is the part you kids are all waiting for,” Dean Fury says. “Sharon Carter and James Barnes, get up here pronto.”

            Bucky freezes. “What?” he says. Steve shoves him forward and he stumbles until his feet start to work again.

            Sharon beats him there by several seconds and is having a delicate tiara placed on her head by the time he steps onto the platform. Only it isn’t Sharon, he realizes as he gets closer, but Jacques Dernier wearing an identical dress and blond wig while Dean Fury’s aging secretary places the tiara on his head. Everyone in the crowd is laughing hysterically and Dean Fury turns to look. “Dernier get the hell of my stage and take that off. This isn’t a music video; there are no wardrobe changes. If you wanted to wear a dress you should have worn it coming in the door.” The real Sharon comes onto the stage giggling and he hands her the microphone, saying, “Keep it short. Keep it appropriate. Don’t piss me off.” He drops a fedora with a plastic crown hot-glued to it on Bucky’s head.

            The first thing she says is, “I don’t know, I thought Jacques did a pretty good impression of me.” Sharon thanks everyone for voting for her in a sweet voice. “And of course,” she says. “I think we really got the best surprise of all in hearing that Bucky was running. Everyone give a hand for our classic babe of a prom king.” She hands him the microphone and everyone cheers.

            It’s one thing to be told what you’ve believed for a year is wrong. It’s another thing entirely to see it happen and Bucky suddenly feels ashamed. Everyone is smiling at him like he’s in a damn teen movie and all he feels is shame. Shame for doubting these people, the ones who have gone to SSR Academy from primary all the way through high school and the ones who came to the school later on. Shame for ever thinking their opinion of him formed over 12 years would change just because he had a few bad days. Shame for shutting them out when he went to a school that was so unnaturally unified and supportive. He swallows hard and clears his throat. “Uh, thank you, Sharon, for bringing that up again,” he jokes. “And for those of you who have asked for the story, the answer is still no.” There are a few laughs. “I…thank you,” he says finally. “Thank you…to all of you. Even the ones who didn’t vote for me-you suck by the way, no finals popsicles for you.” There is more laughter this time. “I mean it, guys,” he says when it dies down. “Thank you. Really.” He pauses again. “I’ve been in a pretty bad place this year,” he says. “I know you all noticed and I know you backed off to give me space and I want to say thank you for that. Thank you for being the kind, considerate people you all are. I’ve never been more certain of the unity in this school than after being subject to the patience and dedication you’ve all given me. This should’ve been our year, seniors. And it was; it really was. We’ve done some great stuff. Some amazing stuff. But I think we can do better.” A grin starts to stretch across his face. “Let’s just say I’m making you all a promise; right here, right now. The next two months will be the best two months of our lives, finals and all. The Winter Soldier is back.” He hands the microphone back to a scowling Dean Fury and dashes away before the man can end him in front of all the upperclassmen. Everyone is cheering, so loudly it drowns it out when the DJ starts playing Take Me to Church. It cuts out mere seconds in and Uptown Funk starts. The cheering swells even louder.

            Bucky saunters back down to his friends. “Look who finally got a clue,” Natasha says. She sounds almost proud.

            Tony is tapping away at his phone, grinning maniacally. “I’m guessing this is probably the safest time to mention I hacked Rogers’s computer and had my people put up the posters.”

            Bucky opens his mouth and then closes it. It’s a little late in the game to get pissed about it all over again. Still, he says, “Better watch your caffeine for the next few weeks, Stark. Never know who might take a piss in it.” He flips him the bird.

            “Well it worked,” Tony says without looking up. “Ice Man melted and returned to his warm and fuzzy Popsicle giving self. You’re welcome, no need to thank me for all that I do for you idiots.”

            “Tony,” Bucky says. Tony glances up. “Thanks.” Tony smiles.

            “Hey Sarge!” Skye calls. “Are we dancing?”

            Bucky spins on his heel and grins at her. “Yes we are,” he calls. “Come on, Rogers.” And now he’s sure that Tony’s taken over via his phone because Uptown Funk fades perfectly into Zoot Suit Riot and the Howling Commandos cheer and form up around their two dancing comrades, executing an oversimplified version of the choreography that somehow has throwing streamers over each other’s head’s added.

Skye takes his hat-crown and plops it on her own head and he laughs. “Hey,” she says. “There’s an after party at my place,” she says. “Are the Commandos in?”

He grins. “Yes we are.”

* * *

 

Two Months Later…

 

“…and finally, before my closing words, I’d like to take a moment to thank Bucky Barnes for being point-zero-two percent behind me, making me the Valedictorian,” Pepper says, smirking at him. He blows her a kiss. “But let me close with these words, class of 2015. “The aim of education is knowledge, not of facts, but of values. SSR Academy has given us knowledge of values. Or some people’s cases, _twelve percent_ of the treasured knowledge of values.” There is an indignant squawk from somewhere in the S row. “Congratulations, everyone. We did it.”

Everyone applauds and Pepper makes her way to her seat. “You’re lucky Fury can’t deny you your graduation at this point,” she mutters as she walks by.

“I’m sort of counting on that,” Bucky whispers back. He takes his place in front of the microphone. “Good afternoon everyone,” Bucky says. “Before we begin, I’d like you all to do me a favor. Look at the people around you. Look to your left and your right. Take a look behind you and meet the gaze of the person who’s been staring at the back of your head all morning.” That gets a few laughs and he waits until everyone has stopped shifting around and is facing him again. “For the most part, those people are the same ones who went through kindergarten with you. They were by your side when this stopped being a catholic school and started being a secular institution in the fifth grade. They were there when Professor Alberts accidentally crashed the system when he got a virus called Ultron on his computer and they were there when Professor May drop kicked that intruder out in the quad in freshman year. These are the people you’ve grown with, laughed with, cried with, and lived your lives with. We are so lucky to know each other. Maybe you don’t know the person next to you like you know your best friend, but they’re still your family. We’re still a community. Our student body is so unique. We are made up of supportive, kind, caring, understanding, creative, beautiful, brilliant people who come together whenever we need each other. I am so grateful to be a part of that.” Bucky smiles. “Thank you all for the great times. No matter where we go or what we do or who we are fifteen years from now, we will always be so blessed to have been part of a community like the SSR Academy class of two thousand fifteen. I am eternally grateful to have had the privilege of knowing each of you.” Bucky pauses. “But on that note, let’s talk about the weather. Sweltering, isn’t it? But don’t worry folks; The Winter Soldier is here to help, with a little assistance from the Howling Commandos and Captain America of course.”      

And that’s the moment the Howling Commandos spill out from behind the stage bearing coolers and a huge archaic boom box playing YMCA. They pour down the rows passing out ice pops to the graduates, who are cheering. Steve runs out, with the full American Flag bodysuit under his graduation gown, waving the school flag aloft as he loops the field. Bucky crows and the Commandos and the entire graduating class crows with him. “Now we just pray they still let me walk,” he says into the microphone. Then he bolts, jumping off the stage and landing in a dead run, sprinting back to his chair. The Commandos abandon the now empty coolers on the side of the field and return to their seats as well. Bruce hands Bucky an ice pop and they share a smile.

            Fury stands and goes to the microphone. Before he can even open his mouth, a cheer starts from somewhere in the middle of the crowd of chairs. “Let Barnes walk! Let Barnes walk!” It barely has a chance to build before Fury cuts it down.

            “No one’s stopping him from walking,” he says. “You think we WANT to keep him?” A few parents and students laugh and Bucky hears his sister cheer his name. “You kids had your fun, but the last hurrah better be over because we do have an actual graduation to get through.”

            Later, when they’ve thrown their caps and everyone is surrounded by their families, Fury approaches Bucky. “There was talk from the school’s board about not letting you walk because we knew you’d pull a stunt like this,” Fury tells him. “In fact, the decision was made. But given that it was a stupid ass decision, I elected to ignore it. You’re welcome.” Bucky opens his mouth but Fury cuts him off. “Thanks for not blowing up my school.” He turns and walks away, walking toward Natasha’s family. Bucky stands there shell shocked for a moment.

            “Buck? You okay?” Steve asks.

            “I think I was just given praise by Dean Fury,” Bucky says.

            “Not surprised,” Steve says. He throws an arm around Bucky’s waist. “Come on, Barnes,” he says. “Let’s go make sure the guys don’t do any property damage in their celebrations.”

 

            Later, when the entire graduating class is half naked and celebrating by jumping into Stark’s Olympic sized pool while the DJ plays Wannabe twenty times in a row and people throw solo cups at Tony for paying him to do it, Natasha says, “You don’t suck, Barnes.”

            “Thanks,” he says. “You’re pretty great yourself. What’s the plan now?”

            Natasha shrugs. “We figure out who we are in the real world. Everyone knows that. What I’m interested in is when you’re going to realize your best friend is deeply in love with you and you’re hella gay for him.” She swims away before he can even comprehend what she’s just said.

            “Natasha, wait. What?” Bucky shouts but she’s gone, disappeared into the throngs of new adults like the devil ninja she is. Bucky turns to where the Commandos are having chicken fights and smiles. There’s no point in being sad, he knows, about the end of their high school days. Those boys are people he will know for the rest of his life. But one is missing and it is someone he will always look for.

            He finds him by having a camera shoved in his face. This time he doesn’t scowl. He smiles. “Hope it’s a good photo, punk.”

            Steve smiles cheekily. “Always is with you in it, jerk.”

            Bucky throws an arm over his shoulders. “So where to next, Rogers? We’ve got nothing but summer days ahead looking to be filled.”

            “I’m thinking the dance floor,” Steve says.

            Bucky blinks. “Seriously?”

            “Come on.” Steve grabs Bucky’s wrist and pulls him to the dance floor that is filling now that Tony has finally ended the Death by Spice Girls. The DJ is playing a mash up of Let Me Be Your Lover and Drunk Off Your Love and Steve loops his arms around Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s hands go automatically to Steve’s waist. “Enjoy this, Barnes,” Steve says in his ear. “It’s our last high school party.”

            “Lies,” Bucky says, suddenly hyperaware of Steve in his arms. He’s going to kill Natasha. “Stark will throw dozens of parties before the end of the summer.”

            “But then we’ll be real graduates. It’ll just be parties. This is our _graduation_ party, Buck. It’s different.”

            Bucky smiles. “Sure, Stevie. Since when is anything in-between for you?”

            “Maybe things aren’t always so black and white,” Steve says. “Figured you’d learned that lesson at prom.”

            Bucky smiles and leans into Steve’s hold. “Bite me, Rogers.”

**Author's Note:**

> The posters for this fic can be found here: http://captain-trashmerica.tumblr.com/post/121564081363/the-posters-from-not-quite-so-black-and-white  
> and here: http://captain-trashmerica.tumblr.com/post/121565355268/the-prom-posters-that-didnt-make-the-cut-when-i
> 
> Yes some are pretty cheesy. I have this headcanon that Tony sat there making them in paint of all fucking things while Pepper and Bruce tried to talk him out of some and he just went "Nope! It's happening" and made some as terrible as possible for his own entertainment.  
> (I also truly believe he had Bucky sign some of the raunchier ones later.)
> 
> And no, Bucky never peed in Tony's caffiene. He just spit in it once or twice.


End file.
